A few days ago, late in the afternoon, there was a knock at the front door. I crawled over the barriers we have erected everywhere to keep Donny Diva corralled to see who it was. A young guy, 18 or so, Semper Fi t-shirt, buzz cut, ruddy complexion – haltingly started with saying, “I hope you don’t think I’m weird or anything…” I was expecting to turn down his suggestion that I buy magazine subscriptions from him so he could finance his first year of college but that wasn’t the case. “I grew up in this house and …” He lived here until he turned 8 years old and it still lives on in his dreams. His family has since moved on to two other houses and he’s soon to take up residence at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, California hoping to dive head long into the world of “re-con” to live in a tent in some place in the world no mother would want her son to live. I take that back – she’d want her son to live and not to die.

My brain was scrambling. I knew what I knew…it was a recipe for disaster but I couldn’t tell him that – he had to learn the lesson the hard way. We stepped into the entry way and I could immediately see him questioning his impulsive request. It didn’t look anything like he remembered. Of course not, I thought. The first order of business 10 years ago when we moved in was to remove a disaster of a “re-muddling” they’d made of the livingroom / entry hall. Lucky for us, we found most of the solid oak trim hidden behind the sheet rock they’d put up. We had gone to great lengths to take it back to the original floor plan.

We moved through the rooms on the first floor then wandered out to the deck. “I thought this was a lot bigger…” It usually is in our memory, I explained. Chatting for a few more minutes till there was really no more point, we moved back to the front porch. Had his visit been two months ago, he would have at least recognized the color scheme on the outside. But since we’ve had the trim painted, all the landscaping done, the ugly old pine tree removed from the front yard, etc. even good friends drive by the house – not recognizing the place. And frankly – I couldn’t be happier.

That’s the thing about change…sometimes it makes us feel sad that things aren’t as they always were. But for every person that feels sad – there is someone who was longing for their version of a home improvement. The universe must just get used to living with that tension.

It’s been two years now that Billy has been gone. I don’t think I’d want to answer the door at the Mrs. place if he stopped by to say he’d like to have a look around since he used to live there. We just had two massive 40 year old half-dead pine trees removed from the front yard. He’d be mad that his imagined bird santuary of an overgrown disgusting invasive Honeysuckle bush has been gone those two years…but not the birds. He’d be complaining long and loud about the color of the TV room that the Mrs. picked out that was graciously painted by Sister Sib and her Nascar Guy. And don’t get me started on the arguments we would have about the basement clean-out / drain system install / new plumbing / and paint job.

But there it is. All those changes. All those things that weren’t worth fighting you over. Like I heard you say a million times, “It ain’t like it used to was…” It’s not. One thing hasn’t changed…we miss you. The “you” that we remember from lots of years ago when you felt good and whistled all the time. Truth is – you’re a changed house now too. I’m sure you like the improvements and would have a hard time explaining all the process you’ve been through.